


Lullaby (the 20 Random Facts Remix)

by Lacylu42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacylu42/pseuds/Lacylu42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: While searching for clues at Grimauld Place, Harry stumbles across a list that Remus and Sirius left behind.<br/>Rating: R (for language)<br/>Spoilers: through Half Blood Prince (written before Deathly Hallows)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lullaby (the 20 Random Facts Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [20 random facts about Harry Potter (as told by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/72414) by dramaphile. 



Harry stood in the corridor, staring at the closed door. Dim shafts of light filtered in through filthy windows at the end of the landing, illuminating motes of dust that fluttered unhurried through the air. He shifted his weight and put his hands in his pockets.   
  
In the last few days, he, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had been through every inch of Grimmauld Place. Every inch, except the ones which lay beyond that door. They were searching for something, anything, that would give them some clue about Regulus Black, Sirius' brother. Some clue as to where he might have hidden Slytherin's locket.   
  
They hadn't dared hope to find the locket itself. At least, no one had said it out loud.  
  
So far, they had turned up nothing.   
  
Harry had deliberately left Sirius' bedroom for last, hoping against hope that they would find something useful somewhere else in the house, that he would not have to face...  
  
Face what, exactly? It wasn't as though Sirius himself were hiding behind the door. Harry could almost hear Remus, back when Harry had only known him as Professor Lupin, saying, "It suggests that the thing you fear the most, is fear itself."   
  
Harry knew he couldn't afford to be afraid of anything. Not any more.   
  
Swallowing, he put his hand to the knob and opened the door.   
  
The room inside was neater than he would have imagined. Sirius had sometimes acted quite a slob, but Harry had wondered, even then, if some of it wasn't a show, put on to give Mrs. Weasley something to nag about.   
  
Harry shut the door behind him, taking in the scene. Obviously, Sirius had returned to his childhood bedroom –– the shelves on one wall were covered in dusty mementos, Quidditch trophies, school books, and even the stiffest, most annoyed-looking stuffed bear Harry had ever seen –– but he had also seen fit to improve it. The single bed showed tell-tale signs of having been engorged, sagging pitifully in the middle, and took up most of the floor space. On the walls, posters for the Hobgoblins and the Holyhead Harpies had been pinned to the once-expensive wallpaper, and the portrait opposite the bed had a rather large, crudely drawn moustache; she didn't seem pleased about it at all.  
  
Harry didn't even know where to begin. The room held the accumulated detritus of more than three decades, give or take. And yet, as he considered it, it wasn't so much. A book on jinxes, a broken quill, a silver dish filled with knuts, a Hogwarts tie: all that was left of a life, and it fit into this one small room.   
  
For a moment, Harry tried to picture what his life would look like in the objects he left behind. He didn't even have a room any more to leave them in.   
  
Feeling like a terrible snoop, Harry moved over to the desk and started opening and shutting drawers at random. He yanked open the top drawer, his eyes flicking over its contents. Lying on top of the dried up ink bottles and quill sharpeners, was a folded piece of parchment. Harry took it, the thin paper crackling loudly in his hands as he unfolded it.  
  
It was a list of some sort.  
  
  
 _1\. Remus sussed out your mum was preggers before she even knew, said she was glowing, and the tea she conjured tasted a bit like licorice and washing up liquid...._  
  
~*~  
  
Remus woke slowly, content to drift in and out of consciousness in the warmth of the sunlight that glowed gold behind his eyelids. His thoughts reached fruitlessly for the frayed edges of the dream just leaving him, grasping an image, a face, before it slipped away like smoke. With a wordless grumble of disappointment, he rolled onto his side, the stubble on his cheek rasping against soft fabric.   
  
He frowned and cautiously opened one eye. Rather than the cracked and broken windows of the shack, he was staring at a clean, intact window framed by cheery red and white drapes. The drapes were familiar. The disconcertingly feral senses of the night had all but left him, but the musty, familiar smell of warm dust in sunlight, (lavender linen water, mothballs) lingered, tickling his brain the way the dream had done, daring him to remember. The smell said, "Safe."  
  
There was movement nearby, but Remus did not try to track it. He was too tired to move, but his brain was waking, listening, cataloging; a small person moving, soft steps, barefoot perhaps, hollow floors, maybe wood. And humming. Remus knew the song, had heard it before, sung low and soft in a honeyed alto voice.  _...and you won't be the moon above us..._  "On a moonlit night," he sang along in a hoarse whisper.  
  
Behind him, he heard a door open. "Remus?" a voice whispered.  
  
Remus rolled over despite the myriad protests from various areas of his body. He recognized the guest room of the Godric's Hollow house at once and Lily, standing in the doorway, glowing in the sunlight. He smiled groggily at her. "Mornin' gorgeous."  
  
Lily returned his smile, breezing into the room, her lightweight yellow bathrobe fluttering around her as she moved to perch on the edge of the bed. "Morning handsome," she replied playfully, reaching out to push hair out of Remus' face. "How are you feeling?"  
  
"Alright," he replied, squinting up at her face. She was positively luminous in the early morning light. "You're glowing."  
  
"Mmm hmm. Aren't you a flatterer this morning."  
  
He continued to smile bemusedly at her. "How'd I get here?"  
  
"The boys brought you," she said. "I guess you lot got a bit rambunctious. You dislocated a shoulder, and they didn't want you kipping the rest of the night on those ratty old blankets in the shack."  
  
"Such thoughtful lads," Remus murmured, closing his eyes again. "Where are they?"  
  
Lily snorted. He could see her face without even opening his eyes, green eyes crinkling with mirth even as she tried to sound annoyed. "Peter's on the sofa and James and Sirius took over our bed. I was tired of fighting them for the duvet."  
  
"Bastards," Remus offered. "Bastards and bed hogs."  
  
Lily laughed outright at that. "Want a cup of tea?"  
  
"Dear god, yes."  
  
Remus struggled to sit up in bed, noticing the tell-tale twinge of his recently-healed shoulder, as Lily conjured a cup of steaming tea on the bedside table. He accepted the delicate china cup, the ugly, old lady-ish rose pattern which had once been such a source of mirth among them, now a comforting sight. As Lily fussed, fluffing pillows and arranging his blankets, he took a long drink of the tea and nearly spat it out.  
  
Lily thought he was choking and walloped him on the back. "You're not supposed to inhale it!"  
  
Remus nodded, coughing and spluttering, but he did not take another drink. Instead, he watched her moving around the room, giving off her own faint light that was disappearing even as he watched her adjusting the curtains, glancing at herself in the mirror over the dresser, humming quietly. He nursed the flavours on his tongue; licorice and dish soap. He knew what humming and licorice and indescribable luminescence might mean.  
  
"Lily," Remus said quietly, "how long have you known?"  
  
She turned to look at him, a curious expression on her face. "Known what, love?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes at her, trying to suss out if she were putting him on through the haze of morning after. "About the baby," he said.  
  
Lily cocked her head to one side with a look of confusion. "What baby is that?"  
  
Remus blinked several times, his mind clearing enough to realize that her confusion was genuine. She did not know.  
  
He wouldn't spoil the surprise.  
  
"Er... Ignore me," he said at last. "I must be taking after your husband –– babbling nonsense."  
  
Lily patted his foot through the blanket as she moved toward the door. "Fancy a bite of breakfast? I know your partners in crime will be ravenous when they've done with their naps."  
  
Remus nodded, watching her move away in the sunlight.  
  
~*~  
  
Harry stared at the piece of parchment, written in two hands he knew as well as his own. It looked so innocent, a simple list, words and numbers. But this was meant for him, this missive, this gift. He didn't know when it had been written or why, but he felt it was meant for him.  
  
He sank onto the edge of the bed, which groaned in protest. His hands were shaking slightly.  
  
A part of him wanted to devour every word, but another part knew that he could only read it for the first time once. He should savor it, hold each syllable against his tongue and let it dissolve into his memory.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he lowered his eyes to the words once more.  
  
  
 _...9. Once, your parents let Sirius babysit you while they went out, and when they returned, the whole kitchen was full of green smoke and the two of you were up on the roof, Sirius staring up at the stars while you slept peacefully, your little face buried in the crook of his neck...._  
  
~*~  
  
James wrapped his arm around Lily's waist as they walked slowly up the darkened lane. Life, he felt, was good. Far better than it had any right to be, all told. He had a gorgeous wife, a brilliant son, and three true-blue friends. The Death Eater attacks had nearly stopped in the last few weeks, and even Dumbledore was starting to admit that things might be going their way at last.  
  
His dad kept telling him not to get too cocky, but he couldn't help it. Life was too bloody beautiful to live it in fear of something you couldn't see.   
  
Lily sighed and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her tighter. "We should head home," she said softly.  
  
"The night's still young," James said, kissing the top of her head, breathing in her essence, letting it flow through him.  
  
Lily laughed. "It's after midnight. Don't you think Sirius has places he'd rather be on a Friday night than watching our Harry?"  
  
James pulled back, an affronted look of astonishment on his face. "Surely you jest? He'd steal Harry away in a second if he didn't have to change nappies. I think we should hold off potty-training him at least until I work up some anti-Padfoot detection wards to put up round the nursery."  
  
Lily smiled at him. Turning to face him, she placed a hand on his chest. "Let's go home," she said quietly.   
  
James wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He had known, of course, that it couldn't last. He'd known since the moment she first agreed to go to Hogsmeade with him in sixth year that someday, eventually, she would find someone better to love.  
  
He could only console himself that that someone had turned out to be his own son. And that he happened to be pretty fond of the tyke as well.  
  
"Your wish is my command," he said quietly. Holding her close, he spun on his heel, Apparating them both to their own front porch. He leaned down and kissed her, melting into one last precious moment when they were just two.  
  
Inside, the house was dark and quiet. "What is that smell?" Lily asked, wrinkling her nose at the acrid stench that lingered inside.  
  
"Prolly burned dinner." James checked the couch for a snoring idiot, but found none. "I don't care if he is a bloody dog, if he thinks he's sleeping in our bed again..." he grumbled. Lily patted him soothingly as she headed for the stairs, making a bee line for the nursery.  
  
James went into the kitchen, flipping the lights on with a wave of his hand. A cloud of thick, green smoke filled the room. He coughed and waved his arms around, wondering what on earth had happened as he opened both of the windows.  
  
"Sirius?" Lily called from somewhere upstairs. She'll wake the baby, he thought, but there was a funny edge to her voice. "James!"  
  
The sound of his wife's panic sent James flying through the house. He met her on the landing, coming out of their bedroom. "They're not here!" she said shrilly. "They're not anywhere!"  
  
James turned and the door to the nursery flew open ahead of him. The room was dark and empty. The light of the waning moon fell on the tiny fluttering paper snitches and brooms Peter had made and charmed to spin slowly over the cot, casting large, threatening shadows across the wall. The thin curtains fluttered slightly in an evening breeze.  
  
Crossing to the open window, James stuck his head out into the night. He glanced at the sky, silently cursing his own paranoia even as he exhaled with relief; only the stars above, no grinning face of death looking down upon them.  
  
Just as he began to draw back inside, he heard something, a snatch of song, sung tunelessly, carried down to him on the wind.   
  
"...and you won't be the stars up in the heavens, although they burn so bright..."  
  
Curiously, he turned, trying to find the source. With a groan, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Fucking barnpot."  
  
"What?" Lily asked, rushing over to the window.  
  
"Stay here," James said, hoisting a leg over the window ledge onto the roof below. "You can kill him once they're both back inside."  
  
Up on the eaves, perched near the chimney, Sirius was sitting with one knee bent towards the sky, the other dangling carelessly over the edge. He was cradling his leather jacket, crooning softly to it. He turned when he heard James scrambling over the shingles.  
  
"Alright?" James called urgently.  
  
"We're brilliant," Sirius replied, pulling the jacket away just slightly, so that Harry's tiny sleeping face was barely visible. "Aren't we, mate?"  
  
"What," James said, quite calmly he thought, "in the name of Salazar's balls were you thinking, bringing an infant up onto the fucking roof?"  
  
Sirius tsked. "Language, Potter. That's a sickle for the swear jar."  
  
"Sirius..."  
  
"Had to show him, didn't I? Show him the best ways to sneak out."  
  
James let out a long breath. "Reckon he's going to be doing a lot of sneaking out before he learns to walk?"  
  
"Well you never know," Sirius replied, tipping his head back to squint up at the sky. "Got to seize the day."  
  
James maneuvered himself into a sitting position next to Sirius, bracing his feet against the slope of the roof. "What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
Sirius looked away. He didn't answer right away, but James knew when it was better not to push. "Remus got called off again tonight," he said at last.  
  
"Ah," James said.  
  
"Don't you bloody 'ah' me," Sirius snapped, his head whipping around to pin James with a glare. "He said it was Order business. He can't tell us or it would jeopardize the mission."  
  
"Right," James replied. "I'm sure that's it." The words sounded hollow, unconvincing, even to him.   
  
~*~  
  
"Harry?" Ginny said, poking her head around the doorframe. Harry startled at the sound of her voice, looking up guiltily. He had been reading the lines of the list over and over, for how long he couldn't guess. "Everything OK?" she asked.   
  
"Yeah," Harry said, not meeting her eyes. "Yeah, sorry. I got a bit distracted."  
  
Ginny came over to sit next to him on the edge of the bed. "What have you got there?"  
  
Harry rubbed the parchment between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before answering. It was smooth and cool. "It's a list," he said at last, thrusting the parchment toward her. "A list Remus and Sirius made, I guess."  
  
Ginny's eyes flew over the first few lines, her expression melting as she read. "Oh, wow," she said quietly.  
  
"Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking that didn't even begin to cover it.  
  
"Wow," Ginny repeated. "This explains so much."   
  
Harry frowned. "It does?"  
  
Ginny nodded earnestly. "Sure. Your dad dropped you on your head –– it all makes sense now."  
  
Harry smiled, despite himself, as Ginny leaned over, bumping him with her shoulder.  
  
"You OK?" she asked.  
  
"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah, I'm OK."  
  
~*~  
  
 _...15. Your favorite toy was a broken snitch you found in your dad's old school trunk while he was cleaning it out. You carried it around night and day until it rusted because you drooled on it so much.  
  
16\. When they took it away, you cried so hard that your dad went out and bought a brand new snitch, broke it, and put a couple of heavy waterproofing charms on it before giving it to you...._  
  
~*~  
  
"Oi, Pete," James called. "I've got to stop in here. Two ticks, I promise!"  
  
Peter sighed heavily when he realized that James was pointing to Quality Quidditch Supplies. "I've got to get back to the Ministry..." Peter said. "I've got meetings this afternoon, and–" but James was already through the door. Peter dug his hands into his pockets and followed.  
  
The bell over the door tinkled cheerfully as he wandered into the shop. The smell of leather and linseed oil, broom twigs and polish rushed at him, and he was almost knocked over by the strong memories it brought with: rainy Saturday afternoons in the common room watching James and Sirius polish their brooms; long evenings spent waiting outside the Quidditch changing rooms for his friends to appear; a fearful twisting in his belly whenever someone suggested a pickup game of two-on-two.  
  
Peter wandered the shop's crowded aisles feeling obvious and out of place. He adjusted his tie and tugged at his robes, ill-fitting and uncomfortable. He finally found James near the back, already paying for his purchase.   
  
"Ta, love," James cooed at the pretty sales witch as she passed him a little paper sack. "See?" he said, turning to Peter with a triumphant grin. "Told you I'd only be a moment, didn't I? And I'm a man of my word."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes at James' back as they left the shop. A man of his word –– when it suited him, more like. If it wasn't one thing with James, it was six others; the baby was ill, Sirius needed help with the motorbike, too soon before the full moon, too soon after. And Peter knew that James had only agreed to come out with him for lunch today because Sirius had buggered off to do something else –– he knew because he'd heard the floo call, standing unobtrusively in the corridor outside James' office.   
  
Outside, James opened up the sack and drew out a brand new Snitch, still in its box. Before Peter could ask, James dropped the box on the ground, pointed his wand at it and shouted, stupefy!  
  
"What'd you do that for?" Peter asked, as James stooped to pick up the now-singed box.   
  
Without a word, James extracted the Snitch and held it in his palm. The tiny wings still flapped feebly, but it would obviously never fly.   
  
"It's ruined," Peter said.  
  
"It's perfect," James replied. "Just a few waterproofing charms, I think –– then let the little dribble machine try to rust this one!"  
  
Peter had no idea what James was on about, but he assumed it had something to do with Padfoot, and so he returned James' smile, if somewhat less enthusiastically. James didn't seem to notice.  
  
Peter walked a few paces behind James as they headed back toward the Ministry, hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet along the street. It hadn't bothered him so much before. He knew where he fit in with things when they were in school, and he felt lucky even to be allowed to tag along with James and Sirius, felt cool by association. But now there was even more vying for James' attention. Lily and the baby took up most of it, not to mention Auror training and work for the Order.  
  
"You'll never be the sun," James sang out suddenly, "burning in the sky..." Peter stopped short, realizing that James had paused to sing and make faces at a baby in a pram. Peter stood awkwardly off to one side, smiling briefly at the mother when she made eye contact with him and tapping his toe on the curb.  
  
James clapped him on the shoulder as they turned away, letting the mother and child go on their way. "Where'd you come up with that?" Peter asked as they walked.  
  
"What, the song? You know it. It's that stupid lullaby Lily's always singing. I swear she's charmed it. Sirius was saying just the other day he woke up with it stuck in his head. Haven't you heard her sing it to Harry?"  
  
Peter shook his head, trying to remember the last time he'd been asked round to see Lily or the baby –– and failing.  
  
James grinned lopsidedly. "You just haven't been paying attention properly." They stopped at the alley that lead to the employees entrance. "I've got to be off home, mate," James said. "Thanks for lunch." And before Peter could even say goodbye, James was gone with a little pop, leaving him standing alone in the alley.  
  
~*~  
  
Harry and Ginny sat, shoulder to shoulder, reading the end of the list. As they came to the last item, Ginny reached out, tracing her fingers over the letters.  
  
"That's Sirius' handwriting, isn't it?" she asked.  
  
Harry didn't reply. He had been staring at those shaky words when Ginny had come in, not really reading them, not really even seeing them. Just remembering. He remembered the looks Sirius sometimes gave him, when he'd move a certain way or sometimes when he laughed. He'd always thought he reminded Sirius of his dad, or maybe his mum; he'd never considered the fact that Sirius might have been remembering the infant godson he had once held, never really realized that his godfather had, of course, known him before. Before they met that night in the Shrieking Shack, before Harry had driven away the Dementors, before Sirius came back to this house he hated, he had known a different little boy, a little boy Harry didn't even remember being.  
  
"I wonder why they stopped there," Ginny said, leaning over and resting her head on Harry's shoulder. He put his arm around her, needing to feel her there, solid and real.  
  
"It's the end of the story," he said.  
  
  
 _...20. On the night they–– on the night Voldemort was killed, I was the first to arrive at the house. I found you whimpering, sprawled on the floor next to your mother's body. When Hagrid found me, I was rocking you to sleep, singing you a broken lullaby while I wiped the tears from my eyes...._  
  
~*~  
  
Hagrid ran. Professor Dumbledore's Portkey had carried him as far as the seaside village, depositing him on the barren rocks above an angry sea, away from Muggle eyes, but still more than a mile from the Potters' house. At first, he'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to find it –– he'd never been there himself –– but when he turned away from the roar of the waves to look out over the quiet little village, he found it quick enough. And so he ran, with the hellish green light reflecting off a leaden sky to lead the way.  
  
Big as he might be, Hagrid had learned from the creatures of the woods how to make his footfalls all but silent, and he'd learned from Dumbledore the value of surprise when it came to confronting an enemy. Hagrid was no longer afraid of this man who called himself Dark Lord –– Dumbledore assured them he was nothing more than a man –– but he was afraid for James and Lily and wee little Harry, and so he crept upon the house as quiet as a mouse in giant's shoes.  
  
Only a collection of walls, part of a roof, a pile of rubble was left of the neat little yellow and white cottage. The front door was gone, just gone. Part of the wall still stood with an empty hole and that made it seem worse, somehow, than the rest of the destruction around it. No hinges, no splinters. He found James first, lying in what used to be the hall. His glasses were broken, the tiny cuts on his face the only evidence of his final fight. The empty frames had been removed, folded neatly, laid on his chest. Hagrid gripped the handle of his umbrella more tightly, choking back the sob that threatened to break loose.   
  
Someone had already been there.  
  
Suddenly, above him, he heard movement, a floorboard creak, a baby's cry. He mounted the stairs, miraculously still intact, in two enormous strides.  
  
"You'll never be the sun, burning in the sky..."  
  
The voice was hoarse, but familiar, and the pounding in Hagrid's chest began to ease.  
  
"And you won't be the moon above us..." the voice continued as Hagrid crept toward the nursery. "...on a moonlit night..." He placed one enormous hand on the door frame. The door itself hung at an odd angle, ready to fall. The outside wall was gone. By some miracle, the cot was still there, blanket flapping in the cold autumn wind.  
  
"And you won't be the stars up in the heavens, although they burn so bright..."  
  
Lily was crumpled on the floor just in front of the cot. Hagrid could no longer hold back his tears. They slid hot and fast down his cheeks as he turned to the other figure in the room.  
  
"But even on the deepest ocean–" Sirius' voice broke. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "You will be the light," he whispered.  
  
~*~  
  
"Not the end," Ginny said, squeezing Harry's knee. "Just the beginning of another story, that's all."


End file.
